Scan barcode
A review by hilaritas
Fires: Essays, Poems, Stories by Raymond Carver
3.0
There's no denying Carver is a talented writer, and it's easy to see what Lish saw in him: he's imbibed Lishian economy of expression with his mother's milk. Every sentence lands with a solidity of inevitability, as though it had to contain the words comprising it and none other. It's a style to be admired for its sense of control. But not, necessarily, for its beauty. There are some beautiful lines in here, of course, but mostly we're to marvel at the cold precision rather than celebrate unusual word pairings or poetic fire.
The essays here are mostly writing advice and reminiscences. I enjoyed getting a glimpse of a younger Carver and his wonder at the improbability of his own success as a writer. His tribute to his teacher John Gardner is affecting and appreciative, but also quite cutting. The title piece is the best of the essays, as Carver deals bluntly with the effect of parenthood on every aspect of life's work. I particularly appreciated his acknowledgement that his children are the gravitational object around which all of his work revolves, far eclipsing lesser influences like books he's read or teachers he's had. I think every parent can understand the complicated, inexorable, and all-encompassing way that your children leave nothing unchanged in your life.
Most of the poems in here are middling, although I was howling over his takedown of Bukowski and his pompous, drunken hotel-room declamations. The most prominent themes are fishing, drinking, and poetry itself. Yawn.
The stories here feel more like drafts or lesser efforts. None of them land quite as hard as the best of his other collections, but a few are still pretty good. Most of them process similar scenes: working folks struggling with alcohol, their own loneliness, and their partners. The last story, on the effect on a marriage of the husband finding a dead body on a fishing trip, is probably the most effective working-out of the theme. I also liked "The Pheasant", about the effect on a relationship of the man hitting a pheasant while driving. Carver really loves showing how a subtle, seemingly minor event can shift perspectives so fundamentally that everything must change. The worst story here is probably "The Lie". Carver rails in the essays against writing by "trick", but I considered this story to be a prime example of that sin.
This is a decent collection for those already initiated in the mysteries of Carver, but I would start elsewhere as a new postulant. "What We Talk About When We Talk About Love" is far more consistently rewarding than this collection of odds and sods.
The essays here are mostly writing advice and reminiscences. I enjoyed getting a glimpse of a younger Carver and his wonder at the improbability of his own success as a writer. His tribute to his teacher John Gardner is affecting and appreciative, but also quite cutting. The title piece is the best of the essays, as Carver deals bluntly with the effect of parenthood on every aspect of life's work. I particularly appreciated his acknowledgement that his children are the gravitational object around which all of his work revolves, far eclipsing lesser influences like books he's read or teachers he's had. I think every parent can understand the complicated, inexorable, and all-encompassing way that your children leave nothing unchanged in your life.
Most of the poems in here are middling, although I was howling over his takedown of Bukowski and his pompous, drunken hotel-room declamations. The most prominent themes are fishing, drinking, and poetry itself. Yawn.
The stories here feel more like drafts or lesser efforts. None of them land quite as hard as the best of his other collections, but a few are still pretty good. Most of them process similar scenes: working folks struggling with alcohol, their own loneliness, and their partners. The last story, on the effect on a marriage of the husband finding a dead body on a fishing trip, is probably the most effective working-out of the theme. I also liked "The Pheasant", about the effect on a relationship of the man hitting a pheasant while driving. Carver really loves showing how a subtle, seemingly minor event can shift perspectives so fundamentally that everything must change. The worst story here is probably "The Lie". Carver rails in the essays against writing by "trick", but I considered this story to be a prime example of that sin.
This is a decent collection for those already initiated in the mysteries of Carver, but I would start elsewhere as a new postulant. "What We Talk About When We Talk About Love" is far more consistently rewarding than this collection of odds and sods.